


Institute Redefined

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bodyguard Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, Dehumanization, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Free Will, Imprinting, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Lust at First Sight, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Postpartum Depression, Power Dynamics, Pro Institute, Rebellion, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, Rope Bondage, Sapiency, Scent Kink, Synths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparrow Finlay is the new Director of the Institute after her son Shaun has died. She's trying to make things better for the synths and when the last of a discontinued line of bodyguard-synths bonds to her, she's left to find the line between instinct and ethics with a sapient being who claims that she is his despite being programmed that way.</p><p>M7-97 has found his charge and there are forces in the Institute that want to kill her. He needs to convince her that it isn't his programming that led him to choose her, but the scent of her loneliness and the knowledge that she's the only thing who can make things better for his kind and is surrounding by enemies.</p><p>The future of the Commonwealth has been decided but the Institute itself needs to be redefined in order to shape said future. And in order to do that, a human and a synth need to understand their relationship and the meaning of sapient free will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for death, violence, dehumanisation, fantastic racism and examination of power dynamics, and mentions of postpartum depression and PTSD. M7-97/Institute!Sparrow smut that might be on the edges, if not actually dub-con. Head-canon that Shaun wasn’t the only source of pure DNA to avoid particularly squicky implications. Thanks to Gaqalesqua for talking me through this.

 

The M7 series of synth, except for a few infiltration models, had been something of a disaster. Built to bodyguard precious Institute personnel, they formed attachments quickly and were capable of more raw physicality than Coursers when protecting their charges – except that they had the highest rate of factory reset on record because they bonded to the wrong people and fought savagely to avoid being wiped. Still, the last one was kept in storage for historical purposes as Father was assiduous in keeping track of synth history.

            But Father was dead and though they disliked the idea, his mother Sparrow Finlay headed the Directorate now. While she wasn’t a scientist like the heads of the divisions, she was a leader, something the Institute had lacked for a long time. The synths revered her in a way that they hadn’t Father – she treated them as people, forbidding the use of resets as punishment or threat, and even had a synth eye after losing her original one (with half her face) in a car accident. Father had been the source of pure genes for the A-K models and the Coursers, but it had been Sparrow’s compatibility with synthetic implants that led to him being chosen.

            She had chosen the Institute and loyalty to her son despite a previous alliance with the Brotherhood of Steel because Arthur Maxson refused to see synths and ghouls as people while the Railroad were too fanatical for her liking. Sparrow planned to see the synths chart their own destiny one day but until then, every step had to be taken carefully – Justin Ayo wanted her dead for taking the job he deemed was rightfully his. At least she had X6-88 and the Coursers, who treated her like Mary Mother of God. She should be more discomforted by that but in a way, X6 and his peers were her grandchildren, and a Killian fought to the death to protect her clan.

            Today she stood in the storage facility where the various models of synths were held for preservation and stared at the tube which held M7-97. He was tall – easily six and a half feet – and built like a brick shithouse with close-cropped black hair and a lightly furred chest, rugged features peaceful. “Why is he… ah… stored?” Sparrow asked Ayo.

            “He was defective,” the head of SRB said dismissively. “Are you sure you want to wake him up?”

            “I don’t like the idea of keeping sapient beings on ice like I was,” Sparrow retorted flatly.

            Ayo looked ready to argue the point but he shrugged. “As you wish. Since I programmed him, I’ll stand in front of you so he obeys instead of attacking out of panic and instinct.”

            Sparrow nodded. “Very well.”

            It was the matter of minutes for the storage tube to be emptied of the viscose liquid that the synths were suspended in and M7-97’s eyes to open. They were dirt-brown and blinked blearily as the storage tube opened, X6 moving into a protective stance next to Sparrow. “He was particularly difficult to subdue,” the Courser murmured. “He broke my nose.”

            “The tragedy,” Sparrow said wryly under her breath.

            Ayo positioned himself squarely in front of M7-97. “I trust you remember me-“

            The synth stepped out of the tube and pushed past Ayo with sublime disregard for the scientist. Before anyone else could react, Sparrow found herself in the synth’s arms with him rubbing against her like he was a cat marking his territory. It had been a long time since anyone had held her – two hundred and twelve years, in fact – and she was too stunned to react more than instinctively by leaning into his touch. “Mine,” he growled into her hair, planting messy, open-mouthed kisses on her temple while smelling of disinfectant.

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” X6-88 swore. “Drop her, M7-97.”

            “Get your own charge!” the synth retorted. “Oh wait, that’s right – Coursers suck too much to be bodyguards.”

            “I protected Father and now I protect Father’s Mother, who graciously gave permission for you to be awakened and whom you are currently mauling like a dog in heat,” X6 responded coolly. “Release her and I won’t reduce you to your component parts with my bare hands.”

            M7’s arms tightened around Sparrow possessively. “Ayo, what the fuck is going on?” she demanded.

            “The M7s, aside from an infiltration unit or two, were designed to be bodyguards for the Institute elite but failed miserably,” the scientist answered dourly. “They bond swiftly to the wrong people and tend to be rather savage when they’re sent for reset.”

            “Umm, big guy,” Sparrow said weakly. “You’re crushing my ribs.”

            His hold loosened a little but still remained firm. “I can protect you better than that walking pile of offal and junk,” M7 murmured. The synth had a very sizeable bulge in his boxers and how long had it been since someone felt desire for her?

            “M7, please let me go.” Sparrow was proud of the fact that her voice was mostly calm and not too breathy. “You need a bath.”

            He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled the scent of her before reluctantly releasing her.

            Of course, that was when X6 tackled him. “Ayo, use-“

            “NO!” Sparrow’s voice rang out, cutting off the Courser’s command. “I’m not going to reset a synth just because he was obeying his programming.”

            “Director Finlay…” Ayo’s face and tone were a little sickly when Sparrow glared at him.

            “No. I’ll… figure something out.” Sparrow glared at X6. “Get off him.”

            “Ma’am-“

            “I don’t care if you two hate each other. Looks like I have myself a bodyguard-synth in addition to a personal Courser.” Sparrow shoved her hands through her hair. She needed a shower too.

            X6 got up reluctantly and M7 stood up, glaring at the Courser before looking at her possessively. The heat in his gaze was far too arousing for her comfort. He’d essentially been engineered to bond to whoever he… chose? Sparrow imagined herself to be a bit prettier than Ayo but… _No_. He was acting on programmed instincts and it wouldn’t be ethical.

            “With all respect, Director, you’re letting sentiment get in the way of a necessary chore,” Ayo said tightly.

            “You’re the Director?” M7’s eyes widened. “My charge is the Director!”

            “She’s Father’s Mother,” X6 said flatly.

            “She’s mine,” M7 snapped. The way he growled the word possessively was doing very bad things to Sparrow’s libido.

            “I’m your charge,” she agreed, in order to stop another brawl. “But you have to be polite to X6. Shaun assigned him to me and we’ve fought together against a lot of enemies.”

            It was astonishing how two of the most dangerous synths ever built managed to pout like spoilt children forced to get along by a parent.

            “Yes, ma’am,” X6 said unhappily.

            “As you wish,” M7 promised huskily.

            That voice was going to kill her until she built up a resistance to it.

            “Alright. You need a shower and some clothing, M7. Ayo, I need M7’s file on my desk in an hour. X6, you’re free to take a break – can you get Codsworth to cook up some Brahmin steak and steamed vegetables for two? I hate getting to know people over tofu and food paste.” Sparrow snapped out orders. Hopefully she could take a cold shower and gather her wits again.

            “I’ll take you to the barracks for a shower and uniform,” X6 told M7. “That way I at least know you’ll do something right.”

            M7 bared his teeth at the Courser. “I can do many things right, X6, including protect my charge.”

            “Of course.” X6’s tone said plenty and Sparrow sighed. These two were going to give her a headache before everything was sorted out.

            “I’ll return to you soon,” M7 promised gently, looking in her direction, before reluctantly following X6 out.

            “Director.” Ayo’s tone was now unctuous. “The M7 models grew unbearably possessive and obsessive, forgetting their place as synths. If you wish to indulge yourself physically-“

            “Shut up.” Sparrow had had enough of the man. “I’m going to have a shower. I smell like disinfectant. I’ll meet with the Directorate tomorrow.”

            “Very well.” Ayo didn’t sound happy but for the moment, he obeyed.

            Sparrow stalked towards the quarters she’d inherited from Shaun. Did her son ever understand what he was truly doing with the synths? Given that he didn’t believe they were sapient, probably not.

            Managing M7’s engineered emotions would be tricky but she’d handled worse. She wouldn’t take advantage of his devotion even if he reminded her of the best parts of Nate. It wouldn’t be ethical.

            She reminded herself of that as she rode her own fingers in the shower to banish the arousal, crying out inarticulately with tears in her eyes that were lost in the water. She’d gotten her son back but at great cost – and at moments like this, she wondered if betraying the Railroad and the Brotherhood had been the right decision.

            Right or wrong, the decision was long made and she’d have to live with it.

…

Being polite to X6 was almost as hard as not tearing Ayo apart for his open hostility to his charge, M7 thought unhappily as he wanked, washed and changed into a plain white uniform. The Courser revered the Director with religious fervour and made a point of noting that she was Father’s Mother. The bodyguard-synth refrained from pointing out that she smelt of arousal under the disinfectant and was leaning into his touch. She was lonely and the one who needed a protector the most. He would be everything she needed if she’d let him.

            Codsworth turned out to be a Mr Handy who cooked the Director’s meals and cleaned up after her. From him, M7 learned his charge’s name was Sparrow Finlay and that Father’s name had been Shaun. Sparrow’s DNA had been compatible with synth parts – she had a synth eye, a fact that aroused him ferociously – and so Shaun had been chosen to provide the pure genes for the first Gen-3s. Not for M7’s model, which he knew would relieve his charge as humans didn’t approve of sleeping with close kin.

            He let the Mr Handy arrange everything on the table as Sparrow showered. Unlike X6, Codsworth was unfailingly polite and respected M7’s position as Sparrow’s protector. “With Master Nate’s death, she’s been very lonely,” he said with a sigh. “And with young Shaun’s death…”

            M7 would have to change that. He imagined himself wrapped around her slender form, chestnut-brown hair falling loose from its tight bun, and just breathing in her scent. She smelt perfect, felt right in his arms and welcomed his touch. He could feel and scent it.

            He hoped to taste her soon. Taste was very important to M7.

            She came out wearing nothing but a towel, somehow missing him being in the open room, and when M7 went to follow her into the bedroom he found himself stopped by Codsworth. “Let her get dressed and have the meal first,” the robot advised. “Meals are very important to human intimacy.”

            M7 could have hugged the Mr Handy. Unlike X6, he was willing to offer practical advice.

            She emerged from the bedroom in a comfortable pink cotton dress, her hair pulled into a ponytail. M7 followed the line of her neck and shoulder, swallowing thickly. Couldn’t he get to know her after she knew that she was safe and not alone anymore?

            _Codsworth knows her better than me at the moment,_ he reminded himself as he sat down at the table, watching her move towards him with a tentative expression, face flushing when their eyes met. When she sat down across from him, their legs brushed together and M7 felt a surge of heat as Sparrow’s flush deepened.

            “M7,” she began and he closed his eyes. Her voice was warm and sweet with a bit of a husky tone to it that he liked. “I won’t take advantage of you. I know you’re programmed to, ah, bond rapidly to someone and-“

            “You’re lonely and you need my protection,” M7 insisted, even though he was committing the cardinal sin of being a synth who was interrupting a human. “Ayo has the reset codes and doesn’t need protection. X6 is a Courser and while they’re good at hunting things, they’re lousy at protecting things. But you’re small and smell perfect and liked my touch. So you’re mine.”

            That settled, he sat back as Codsworth brought in plates of food. He’d never seen meat or vegetables before, surface foods that were considered irradiated and fit for degenerate Commonwealth settlers, but they smelled amazing. “Are these free of irradiation?” he asked the Mr Handy, who blinked at him.

            “I am quite capable of removing irradiation, thank you very much,” the robot said, sounding offended.

            “I’m sorry. I was just worried about my charge,” M7 mumbled, feeling guilty that he’d made the assumption another machine couldn’t do his job properly.

            “I understand, M7. X6 threatened to turn me into scrap if I let Miss Sparrow get poisoned.” Codsworth sounded _very_ offended at that and the bodyguard-synth couldn’t help a smirk. X6 had no social skills whatsoever. “As if I would allow that to happen after spending two centuries with no one to serve!”

            “Codsworth belonged to me and Nate before the bombs fell,” Sparrow said quietly. “He helped me after Shaun was born.”

            “I regret not meeting young Shaun before he died,” Codsworth said sadly. “Still, he grew up into a great man, and Miss Sparrow found him in the end.”

            M7 watched Sparrow as she picked up the knife and fork, following her actions in cutting up the meat. By the second piece, he had the hang of it, and he decided that he liked meat. At least this kind of meat. He just hoped that it hadn’t been someone, as the synth trainers claimed the surfacers ate their dead people.

            “It was Brahmin,” Sparrow said gently. “Two-headed cow that’s like beef. Radroaches taste like chicken, mirelurks are like a mixture of crab and fish, radstag is venison, radscorpion is gamier, bloatflies are disgusting, mutant hounds and mutt chops taste like cheap steak…”

            “You were on the surface?” M7 asked. He knew what chicken and fish tasted like, sort of, from the food pastes and tofu that was served in the mess hall.

            “Shaun remotely awakened me when he found out he had cancer and I had to travel across the Commonwealth to find him,” she confirmed softly, eating some of the vegetables. “The situation is complicated up there, to say the least. For a while, I thought I could get all the factions to live together, but…”

            The Director shrugged. “In the end, I chose Shaun over a genocidal bigot and a ruthless fanatic. Now I have to live with the choices I’ve made and try to make the Institute a better place.”

            “I’ll protect you,” M7 promised.

            “Thank you,” she said. “You’ll help when I liaise with the Minutemen – X6 unsettles surfacers, but you’re very sociable and emotional, so they’ll deal with you better.”

            “Minutemen?”

            “They’re a faction of surfacers dedicated to protecting others. I used to lead them until Shaun died, then I made Preston General and became Director here.” Sparrow sighed, shaking her head. “The Brotherhood of Steel would have just wiped synths and sentient ghouls out whereas the Railroad cared only for freeing synths, not for having safeguards in place in case a synth went to the bad. The Minutemen and I are working on finding middle ground so we can both get along as best we can and so the synths can make their own choices – just like anyone else.”

            “Ayo will kill you if he knows you want to do that,” M7 said softly. “We’re just slaves to him.”

            “And to a good deal of the Institute staff. I’m working on it, I promise,” Sparrow said gently. “I’ve already banned the use of resets as threat or punishment. I only save them when there’s no other choice.”

            Every word, sweet and warm, that fell from those coral-hued lips only increased M7’s desire to protect his human. She believed synths were people – which they were – and didn’t treat them like non-sentient machines. Maybe having Codsworth, who was clearly sapient and capable, helped her learn that. Or maybe she just treated everyone like that. He’d heard the regret in her voice when she spoke about dealing with the Brotherhood of Steel and the Railroad. She obviously tried to make everyone agree to things.

            “Mine,” he growled happily. He liked saying that.

            It was all he could do to recall that humans liked food before intimacy and therefore finish his meal before leaning across the table to kiss her. M7 wanted to leave a mark on her neck so that everyone knew she had a protector now, that she belonged to him. The thought was distracting, to say the least, as he ate the last of his vegetables.

            Codsworth was a very good cook. M7 definitely liked him.

            Sparrow finished eating and sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I know the Institute are mostly vegans but sometimes, I just need a good steak and vegetables. Did you like your food?”

            “I did,” he said, looking at Codsworth. “He’s a very good cooking unit.”

            “I’ll have you know that I am programmed to handle complex care needs in addition to doing the housework,” Codsworth retorted huffily. “Miss Sparrow had postpartum depression and Master Nate suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

            “I’m sorry,” M7 mumbled contritely. ‘Master Nate’ had to have been Father’s Father.

            “It’s nothing, M7. I must say, you’re a welcome change to X6.” Codsworth’s tone positively dripped loathing for the Courser.

            “Be nice. X6 is my friend,” Sparrow chided wryly.

            “We _are_ being nice, Miss Sparrow,” Codsworth retorted dryly. “I have never once referred to X6 having the social skills of a malfunctioning Mr Gutsy.”

            M7 didn’t know what a Mr Gutsy was but he burst out laughing. Sparrow simply shook her head and put the cutlery on the plate before standing. “I’ve got paperwork to go through before heading to bed. M7, umm… Shit. Codsworth, can you set up my old bedroom for M7?”

            “You’re not sharing yours with M7?” Codsworth sounded as surprised as M7 felt.

            “I’m not taking advantage of his programming,” Sparrow said firmly.

            The bodyguard-synth sighed. Humans like to complicate things. “You’re mine,” he insisted. “I _want_ to touch you. You’re not alone and unprotected now the way Father let you be on the surface.”

            “You feel that way because of your programming,” Sparrow said quietly. “It wouldn’t be ethical to-“

            M7 stood up, rounded the table (out of respect for Codsworth, who didn’t need more mess to clean up) and picked up Sparrow as he had when leaving the storage tube. “Mine,” he reminded her, inhaling the scent of the arousal that had perfumed her skin the entire meal.

            She went still except for a subtle trembling in her limbs, her lips parted and eyes bright, and M7 decided that he wanted to kiss her on the mouth. “I want to taste you,” he growled just before doing so, tongue sliding past her lips and capturing the sweetness of her.

            Sparrow made a noise as her hands went up and curled around as much of his biceps as they could – she was so small! – while he kissed her breathless. Her body pressed itself against his and M7 hummed in approval. He knew instinctively what to do – all the synths knew the basics of human mating – but he wanted her to ask him. It was important that she understood that he wanted this, that he was built for her, built to protect and keep her.

            “Do your paperwork,” he told her hoarsely after breaking the kiss. M7 inhaled the scent of her, growling a little at the musky fragrance of her arousal, and then added, “Unless you’d like to leave it until later?”

            It took a moment for her to answer. “I’ll do the paperwork,” she said, much to his disappointment.

            He let her go. “I want this. You’re mine,” he reminded her. Sparrow’s lips were very red and a little swollen. M7 liked that.

            She nodded shakily and climbed the stairs to the office. He watched her go before looking for the bathroom. He needed to wank _again._

His human was certainly very infuriating at times. But M7 wouldn’t have her any other way – unless it was her asking him to mate. A lot. But he had to know she wanted him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for death, violence, dehumanisation, fantastic racism and examination of power dynamics, and mentions of postpartum depression and PTSD. This is all entirely head-canon and my interpretation of known Institute lore.

 

Arousal surged through Sparrow’s body but she ruthlessly clamped down on the feeling, shoving the ache and wetness between her legs aside to pull up M7-97’s file. She read the terse paragraph twice before sitting down in the office chair and sighing. This was going to be difficult.

            _“The M7 bodyguard-synths are highly aggressive, obsessive and possessive,”_ Shaun had noted. _“They fixate on one person and show extreme territoriality, especially in a sexual sense. If we knew what triggered the imprinting urge, it would not be so difficult to redirect it to more suitable targets, but after the model invariably bonded to what it deemed the person or synth in most need of protection, it took factory reset to end it. And, of course, the synth fought savagely and one model managed to kill a Courser. A Courser. No, M7-97 will be the last and will be kept in storage, as it hasn’t bonded yet.”_

            So even the Institute that built him didn’t know what triggered M7’s instincts. It seemed as random as finding someone attractive, maybe, unless the synth thought she was the weakest there? Sparrow sighed and pulled up the notes on the entire line. She had a lot of reading to do on how to handle M7’s instincts without hurting or taking advantage of him.

            Mary, Jesus and Joseph could he kiss though.

            She was so engrossed in the various files and holotapes that she failed to notice Codsworth coming and leaving a pot of tea, which went cold, and the dimming of the Institute’s lighting to signal the bedtime curfew for synths.

            M7 definitely had a personality and was aggressively masculine, even without the flawless physical perfection of his body. He and Codsworth had obviously bonded over a mutual dislike of X6.

            Every time he growled “Mine” Sparrow grew a little more aroused. Only her firm set of ethics kept her from-

            M7 walked into the office, wearing nothing but his uniform pants, and Sparrow completely lost her train of thought. Her eyes followed the span of his shoulders and the definition of his pecs before her gaze ran along the trail of hair that ran down to the band of his trousers. Of course, the fabric was tented and when she looked up, his eyes were hot and harsh.

            As he advanced, Sparrow instinctively scooted her chair back until it hit the wall behind her. She looked up at M7, eyes wide, and couldn’t find anything to say.

            “Mine?” It was a question, not a statement, and his voice sounded a little uncertain despite the fierce arousal in his eyes.

            “M7…” Sparrow swallowed thickly.

            “If you don’t want to be mine, use the reset code,” he said hoarsely. “I _want_ you to want to be mine.”

            Simple words that said so much.

            Like the synths, Sparrow was alien to this world of rust and ruin. At least the Institute reminded her of a hospital or the cold Commonwealth Institute of Technology in its way. She was lonely and alone, unable to connect to anyone in the Commonwealth or the Institute beyond surface politeness and mutual necessity. Codsworth was her only friend in this place.

            An M7’s bond was unable to be altered once he’d imprinted on someone. But it seemed that M7-97 wanted to know that she wanted him, wanted to be his. If he cared enough about that, maybe it wasn’t as forced as she thought.

            “You’re saying that you want to… stop being you… if I don’t want to be your charge?” she asked carefully.

            She could use the reset code and it would kill the person who treated X6 as a rival, who seemed to have an obsession with taste, who liked steak and got along famously with Codsworth.

            His voice was steady. “If it protects you from me wanting you to be mine even if you don’t want to be mine, yes,” he replied. “I… _want_ you to want to be mine. I _want_ you to say you want to mate with me.”

            She closed her eyes. He didn’t want to force her into anything even though she’d been terrified about forcing him.

            “I don’t want to reset you, M7,” Sparrow said aloud. “I… just want to know that you want this, above and beyond your programming. Synths aren’t machines to me – you’re living, breathing people with a few extra parts.”

            “I smelt you before I saw you,” M7 said huskily. “You were surrounded by a Courser and a man who hates you. I knew I was faster than a Courser if you needed protection. The scientists think it’s sight that makes the M7 bond but it isn’t. It’s scent. Each kind of fear is a little different and every synth here smells frightened around Ayo. That’s why so many of us bonded to synths and they reset us for it – and the other synths too, even though they had nothing to do with it.”

            Sparrow’s heart broke at the sad tone in his voice. “I want to stop that,” she breathed.

            “I know. And Ayo will kill you when he finds out.” M7 was matter of fact about it. “X6 is almost competent as a bodyguard. He protected Father as a child. If you reset me, then I guess he might be able to protect you, if Ayo manages to turn the other Coursers against him.”

            Sparrow reached and rubbed his shoulder soothingly. His flesh was warm and hard under her hand, almost exactly like Nate’s had been except that M7’s body heat was a little higher. “I’m not resetting you,” she assured him gently. “It… just takes humans a little longer to bond, I guess you could say.”

            “So you want to be mine?” The hopefulness in his voice was as heart-wrenching as his revelation about how the synths feared the Institute scientists.

            “Yes. It’s just going to take me a while to feel like you’re mine, though.” She wasn’t sure if what M7 felt was love and if it wasn’t, she didn’t know how to describe it to him.

            “Humans complicate things,” he growled. “You’re mine. That makes me yours.”

            “I know, but-“ M7 moved with that inhuman synth grace and picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom.

            “Mine,” he said hoarsely into her hair. _“Mine.”_

            It was obvious M7 favoured action over speech. He laid Sparrow down on the double bed and before she could say anything, her skirt was shoved up to her waist, her underwear was hanging from her right ankle and the synth’s head was between her legs with his nose in her pubes and tongue in her cunt.

            She was still wet from his earlier kiss and M7’s tongue spread her nether lips easily, making her moan in pleasure. It took only a few swipes and licks, his nose rubbing her clit, to make her come, Sparrow shoving her fist into her mouth as not to let everyone know she was fucking her synth bodyguard.

            M7 sat on his haunches and licked his lips. “The only thing that tastes better than you is the snack cakes they sometimes give us,” he admitted with a strange sort of shyness.

            Given the obsession the synths had with Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, Sparrow had to take that as a compliment of the highest sort. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly.

            The smile he gave was sweet and shy. It occurred to her that M7 was trying to figure out his own responses to the instincts programmed into him. Sparrow sat up, feeling a little awkward. Should she return the favour?

            He looked down at his trapped erection with a grimace. “I’ve wanked twice and my penis _still_ hardens around you,” he complained. “Will it stop if we mate?”

            “You’ll have to get tired,” Sparrow said sympathetically. “And M7?”

            “Yes?”

            “The act is generally referred to as making love, screwing or – more crudely – fucking. Describing it as ‘mating’ will definitely make you stand out when we go to the surface.”

            The synth hummed thoughtfully. “That makes sense,” he finally said. “The scientists give us speech patterns that are a bit different, probably so we’ll stand out if we escape.”

            “Well, Coursers definitely swear,” Sparrow observed dryly, thinking of the litany X6 uttered on watching the Prydwen crash into the ground and nearly getting brained by some flying metal.

            “Yes, but they’re very… flat.” M7 shrugged his broad shoulders. “The way they talk.”

            “I know. Ayo makes them talk like that.” Sparrow would definitely have to deal with the man as soon as she had cause beyond him hating her. She believed in the rule of law, or whatever passed for it in these sterile halls of science and intellect.

            M7’s big fists clenched. He hated Ayo, she knew that, and saw him as a threat. If she showed a hint of fear around the head of SRB, the synth would murder him in a heartbeat.

            To distract him, Sparrow rose to her feet and kissed the side of his neck, the only bit she could reach, M7 was so much taller than her. Her own ethics told her that she had to return the pleasure, but when she slid her hand down his muscular stomach towards his pants, the synth caught it.

            “I want to… fucking?” he asked, tasting the word in that sinfully growling voice.

            “You want to ‘fuck’,” she corrected. “Fucking is when you’re doing it.”

            “I want to fuck,” he growled. “Unless you don’t want to?”

            “I was going to… ah… return the favour,” Sparrow said softly. “But if you want to get right to it…”

            She went to unfasten her dress, undoing each button to tease M7 a bit. He was… definitely dominant, she figured. His eyes darkened and the muscles in his forearms writhed as he clenched his fists tighter. When the last button was undone and she slid the dress from her shoulders, revealing her small soft breasts and wrinkled belly from bearing Shaun, she felt a moment’s worry about his reaction.

            M7’s gaze dropped down to her stomach. “Are those scars?” he asked.

            “In a matter of speaking. When a woman gives birth, her stomach stretches as the baby grows, and these marks are left behind.”

            His right hand unclenched and he reached out, palm skimming between her breasts and down her belly, stopping at her pubes. Sparrow felt her womb tighten in arousal at his touch and wondered what it would be like to be fucked by a man with almost endless stamina.

            M7 growled and shoved down his pants to reveal… Mary, Jesus and Joseph, the man was hung like a Brahmin, completely in proportion to his height. And he was rampantly erect. Sparrow shuddered when she thought about giving that thick, heavy cock a blowjob and that made her wet enough to drown the sea.

            His hand dipped a little lower, thumb accidently brushing her clit, and Sparrow moaned. “You’re slick again,” he said, fingers slipping between her lips as she whimpered. “Does this mean you want to fuck?”

            That grave growl saying the word calmly – but with a primal edge to his tone – made her even hornier. “Yes,” she admitted huskily.

            M7 stepped out of his pants, dirt-brown eyes blazing with possessive lust. “Mine,” he growled just before he pushed Sparrow down onto the bed again.

            Synth training obviously covered the basics; he was in like Flynn, balls deep before she could even catch a breath, and she felt the ache of stretching to fit him. M7 waited for a moment, looking down at her, before kissing the join of neck and shoulder until a big purple hickey was there.

            “Mine,” he said in satisfaction as she arched her back, whining for him to start thrusting.

            The synth then proceeded to fuck her into the bed, Sparrow’s fingers on her clit because he was too busy holding her into place, and she lost track of time as she almost endured the most intense set of multiple orgasms she’d ever had. Finally, _finally_ he came with a groaned surge of seed before collapsing hot and sweaty on top of her, panting heavily.

            “Mary, Jesus and Joseph,” she breathed, staring into his ruggedly handsome face.

            He rolled over and curled himself around her; Sparrow noticed that she was against the wall. “I liked that better than snack cakes,” he confided. “It feels right here with you.”

            His boyishly innocent tone hit Sparrow that M7 had never made love before and was unaware of the ethics surrounding intercourse, especially the power dynamics between the Director of the Institute and a synth. But he was bonded to her and only a reset could wipe that bond, which would kill the person he was.

            She rolled over to the side, back to him, and felt his cock stiffen again against her ass. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” she said in some frustration.

            “I know!” he agreed, already rutting against her.

            He had her twice more, taking her from behind, before finally collapsing into a deep sleep with an arm draped over her. Sparrow looked up at the ceiling, pondering the moral quandary her loneliness and lust had gotten them into until the lights switched on to signal the beginning of the synths’ day.

…

In the week since his charge had accepted him, M7 had come to several conclusions, the chief of them being that aside from Sparrow and a couple other people – Liam Binet and Madison Li – he _loathed_ the Institute scientists even more than X6, who was at least dedicated to the Director. Sparrow tried to make them see that synths had their own free will but they were too busy coming up with reasons why such-and-such synth should be reset. M7 wondered what it would be like to live in a place where there was only synths and the people he liked.

            He then discovered that while synths didn’t age or sicken, humans certainly did, and that was why Father had died. One day his charge would get grey hair and wrinkles on her face and that would be the sign she’d be close to death. That was assuming that cancer, which ran in her family, didn’t take her from him.

            The idea of his Sparrow dying scared him more than even a reset.

            On the upside, Ayo was grey-haired and wrinkled. Maybe he could die soon and save M7 the trouble of removing him. The Directorate thought the synths were blind but they could see the rebellion that the head of SRB was planning.

            After dark, he learned every inch of his charge and discovered that he liked her underneath him and admitting that she wanted to fuck. She stifled her cries of pleasure with her fist or a pillow and when he waited for her to regain her stamina (as a human, she didn’t have a lot), she taught him the surface words for his body parts, fingers trailing across his pecs and six-pack and cock. Sometimes she looked at him and smelt worried, the emotion he’d picked up from her until he made it clear that he wanted her to want him, and he’d always show her how happy he was that she was his charge.

            Finally, he discovered they were going to the surface, and Sparrow opened a special trunk that was battered and rusty to bring out what they’d wear while meeting with the Minutemen. “X6-88 and X4-18 will be scouting ahead for trouble, but you’ll be with me when I meet General Garvey,” Sparrow told him as she laid out dingy, damaged clothing.

            She put on a white shirt, black jacket and pants tucked into boots that looked like preserved skin, a metal shoulder-guard and bracer on her left arm, and tucked an ugly-looking pistol into the holster under her left arm. With each accoutrement, he saw a different side of his charge emerging, the part that had made its way across the Commonwealth and destroyed her son’s enemies.

            Somehow M7 knew Ayo had never seen this side of Sparrow. He saw the conciliator, the woman who wanted to do right by the synths, and not the avenger who wrapped herself in the preserved skins of things that had angered her. It was too primal, too… _surfacer_ … for the Institute-raised scientist to contemplate.

            But for M7, he wanted to kiss her lips until they were swollen, so that the avenger would still know she was his.

            After she’d affixed the last bit of armour around her body, she showed him how to button up the flannelette shirt that he’d be wearing under his own skin armour. “Boiled Brahmin leather,” she explained as she helped him strap on the oddly stiff hide. “I made it for X6, but he wouldn’t wear it.”

            “Why not?” Sparrow surely had a good reason.

            “Because he’s a Courser and Coursers only wear their uniforms even if they scream ‘Here I am, I’m a hunter-killer manufactured by the Commonwealth’s bogeyman’,” Sparrow observed wryly. “I try not to rub in the fact that I… essentially chose the bogeyman over the Brotherhood and the Railroad. Garvey accepts my reasons but he’s always tense. At least I’ve stopped the kidnapping and infiltrations.”

            M7 already knew that sometimes infiltration units went out and killed people to replace them but he didn’t know why the scientists did it. Maybe if he killed Ayo and his kind, the surfacers would be happy too.

            When he was dressed, she handed him a laser rifle that wasn’t too different to the Institute ones. “Institute weapons are shit,” Sparrow observed dryly. “Brotherhood ones were nastier.”

            “And yet you killed them,” M7 noted quietly.

            “No, a giant robot named Liberty Prime did that,” Sparrow said softly. “I worked with the Brotherhood until the Railroad was destroyed and when Maxson refused to see reason about the Institute, I grabbed the Beryllium agitator for Allie Filmore and officially became the enemy of everyone but for the Minutemen. Even they wanted me to leave once the Prydwen was destroyed.”

            “Why do you still meet with them?”

            “Because even with the fusion reactor, the Institute still has to deal with the surface,” Sparrow pointed out. “It’s not going away any time soon – despite Ayo’s wishes.”

            She pulled on her Pipboy, which contained a Courser chip, and looked at the map with satisfaction. “Ready?”

            M7 took a deep breath and nodded.

            “This is Director Sparrow. Can you relay me and M7 to Gwinett Brewery?”

            The world dissolved in blinding blue-white light and when it returned, M7 was standing in front of a ruined building with a big blue ceiling above him.

            Then it hit him that this was the sky. And there were no ceilings. And dangerous surface-dwellers that ate people. And his charge was soft and sweet to taste.

            Within moments he was hyperaware and prepared for trouble. Even with two Coursers looking for trouble, he knew that there were things which could kill even them.

            But Sparrow took off, making him follow, and walked unerringly to a crumbling fortress which flew a strange flag. The world above was ruined and crumbling and battered, but the people looked like Institute scientists for the most part, only thinner, dirtier and a few looked like overcooked meat with alien black eyes.

            A dark-skinned man in a long buff-brown jacket and turned-up hat was on the wall with a strange gun in his hands. “Director,” he greeted courteously.

            “General,” Sparrow replied with equal politeness. “How are things?”

            “Good.” Garvey climbed down from the wall and met them at the gates, which opened up to show a relatively empty courtyard with a big tower in the middle of it. “Curie’s got the runaways settled down in Sanctuary and they’re doing pretty well.”

            “That’s wonderful,” Sparrow said, smiling. “Preston, this is M7. He’s my… bodyguard, I guess you could say.”

            “She’s my charge,” M7 growled, giving Preston a flat stare.

            The General’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t make judgment calls, Sparrow, but…”

            “He bonded to me. Apparently M7s – aside from that one infiltrator unit – bond to the person who’s the most in need of protection.” Sparrow herself smelt worried and the synth sighed. He was glad to be bonded to her.

            “We choose on an instinctive level,” he told the General. “We smell the person who needs the most protection and choose them. The scientists reset most of the others because we wouldn’t bond to those they wanted us to – and if they were synths, they reset them too.”

            “Have the kidnappings and infiltrations stopped?” Sparrow asked Preston urgently.

            “They seem to have,” the General said dubiously. “Sparrow, I know you had your reasons, but…”

            “But the Institute is pretty fucked up,” Sparrow finished grimly. “If Curie and the runaways can do well, I’ll have the evidence that synths can make their own future and the Directorate can choke on their beliefs that synths aren’t sapient.”

            Preston sighed explosively. “The Railroad-“

            “Wiped their memories and some of them went to the bad, Preston. You saw the shit at Libertalia.”

            The General frowned. “You… have a point. But I think this is a discussion for you, me, Ronnie and… M7.”

            “Good point.”

            They were led into the General’s meeting room, where a map of the Commonwealth was on a table, and a lean, grey-haired woman in a battered green uniform stood. “Sparrow,” greeted ‘Ronnie’ curtly.

            “Ronnie,” Sparrow answered. “How are you?”

            “Training the children how to fight properly,” the woman countered. “You seem to be keeping those white-coated bastards in check.”

            “I’m doing my best,” Sparrow assured her. “This is M7. He’s my bodyguard.”

            “If that’s what you need to call him to sneak him by the folks who’ll disapprove, go ahead, but don’t bullshit me, girl,” Ronnie drawled. “He’s your lover, isn’t he?”

            M7 liked that word.

            “He was built to be a bodyguard but he’s bonded to me,” Sparrow admitted. “It’s something M7s do at first scent, apparently.”

            “Huh, it’s usually at first sight.” Ronnie eyed him thoughtfully. “I know you wouldn’t make someone do what he didn’t want to.”

            “She’s mine,” he told the woman. “I chose her before my eyes were open.”

            “Apparently M7 thinks Sparrow needs more protection than anyone else in the Institute,” Preston noted with a trace of irony in his voice. “I guess he hasn’t seen her pissed off.”

            “Director Ayo wants to kill her because she treats synths as people,” M7 told the two humans. Sparrow trusted them, so he did. “Most of the scientists treat us like we’re just tools they can get rid of whenever they please.”

            “Damn.” Preston sighed and shook his head. “Sparrow, this might be one mess you can’t fix, even with that silver tongue of yours. Get the synths out, issue an evacuation order for the humans you think are worth saving, and blow the Institute sky-high.”

            “That’d be Sparrow and maybe two other people,” M7 muttered. He liked how this Garvey thought.

            “It can’t be that bad. There are kids – little humans there, right? And plenty of people who don’t know better because they grew up hearing what their leaders told them.” Preston’s voice was firm. “You start believing that big groups of people need to die because you disagree with them, you sound like a member of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

            “Every synth is at danger of being reset at some human’s whim!” M7 retorted. “One M7 was reset because he bonded to a Miss Nanny instead of a scientist’s daughter! Reset… It wipes away who were are, just makes us like… like obedient things, not people. It _kills_ us.”

            “And in the Commonwealth, humans are killed on someone else’s whim every day,” Preston said gently. “It’s one thing to defend yourself or overthrow a tyrant, M7. It’s another to kill people who’ve done you no personal wrong simply because they don’t know better.”

            _Why do humans make things so complicated?_ M7 thought as he looked at Sparrow and Ronnie, who were both nodding in agreement. “I’ll think about it,” he finally conceded.

            “Good.” Preston nodded in satisfaction. “Sparrow’s… a good woman. We haven’t seen eye to eye on several things, but she’s always had a good reason for doing things her way.”

            “I’ll protect her,” he promised. “She’s mine. She’s not allowed to die.”

            “All humans die and even synths break down eventually,” Sparrow said softly. “It’s part of being mortal.”

            _No!_ He didn’t want to argue with her in front of the two Minutemen (strange name, he wondered why they were called that when some were clearly women and… other people) so he fell silent.

            The conversation turned to the runaway synths at Sanctuary, where a Miss Nanny transferred into a synth’s body named Curie was helping them integrate into Commonwealth society. M7 listened closely and learned that there was another free synth named Nick Valentine working in Diamond City; Sparrow smelt unhappy when his name came up. He learned about people named Cait and MacCready and a boy-synth named Shaun who was being raised with a human boy named Duncan and a dog (whatever that was) called Dogmeat. Someone named Piper was writing things in a paper.

            Up here, they called Sparrow the Woman Out of Time and harsher phrases too. Preston and Ronnie were… maybe not her friends, but she’d rebuilt the Minutemen, so they felt they owed her.

            He came to realise that his charge had touched many lives, changing them like she was the synths’, and yet few had stood by her at the end. She’d chosen her son and robot, the only connections to her old life, because of that loneliness.

            But now she had him.

            The meeting wound down shortly after that and Sparrow declined the offer of a bed at the Castle. “I need to check in somewhere,” she said quietly. “Thanks for everything.”

            “Take care, you two,” Preston answered.

            The sky was now orange and red and yellow like fire as they walked through the ruins to somewhere named Goodneighbour. “Is the sky burning?” M7 asked, looking up warily.

            “No, but it’s nearly night and we need to be in Goodneighbour,” Sparrow answered. “Hancock doesn’t much like the Institute but so long as we behave, he’ll leave us alone.”

            X6 and X4 shimmered into view. “We had some brief super mutant trouble near Trinity Tower,” the head of the Coursers reported. “One of them, a creature named Strong, wants to know if you’ve found ‘the milk of human kindness’ yet. He helped us kill his ‘brothers’.”

            “Strong’s still around? Blessed Virgin.” Sparrow chuckled. “Tell him I’m still looking.”

            “Must I?” X6 asked dryly.

            “No. If I see him, I’ll tell him.” She shook her head. “Way clear to Goodneighbour?”

            “Yes.” It was X4 who spoke. “Ma’am, may I ask you a question?”

            “Of course.”

            “Doctor Ayo claims that you will free the synths without regard for ‘the ethical and moral issues at stake’,” the Courser said tonelessly. “Is that true?”

            Sparrow folded her arms. “I assume you know I’ve let the runaways make their own settlement, yes?”

            “I… do,” X4 admitted.

            “I’ve got G3-24 and A9-75 watching them in addition to the Minutemen,” Sparrow answered. “I want to see what the Gen-3s can do when seemingly unsupervised.”

            “You trust us to make those decisions?” X4 asked in dull surprise.

            “Why not? You’re sapient.” Sparrow tilted her head. “I intend to have safeguards in place. But I do believe that synths aren’t just tools and machines meant to serve human whims.”

            M7 watched X4 carefully, getting ready to tackle him if he meant his charge harm. X6 would also be useful (for a change) if that happened.

            But the Courser simply shook his head. “Thank you, ma’am. Doctor Ayo wants you removed as Director.”

            “He wants her killed,” M7 said flatly. “Can’t we just kill him already?”

            “Hating me isn’t enough reason to kill someone,” Sparrow said quietly. “One day, he will cross the line. Until then, keep an eye on him and those who support him.”

            M7 and X6 exchanged frustrated looks. Sparrow’s belief in people’s better natures was going to put her in harm’s way.

            The two Coursers went invisible after that and Sparrow led him to Goodneighbour, which had a lot of the burned-looking people (ghouls, Sparrow called them) and were led by someone in a red jacket called Hancock. He and Sparrow didn’t like each other. M7 didn’t much like him.

            But she took him to a place called the Memory Den and asked Dr Amari to put her in a memory lounge. M7 watched her get walked through memories, making soft sad cries, and he wondered why she would do this to herself. But then he found out that Dr Amari was the one who did the memory-wipes for synths – and he got an idea.

            Later on, they went to somewhere called the Third Rail, where Sparrow drank alcohol that wasn’t allowed at the Institute (though Z1-14 did a good brew from the berries he culled from his gardening) and then to somewhere called Hotel Rexford. He watched her crawl onto a bare double mattress, still clothed though not armoured, and wrapped himself around her protectively.

            In the morning, she was clear-eyed but grim. Even though this was a very dirty and horrible place, M7 wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until she was arching under him, her lips properly swollen. “Mine,” he growled. “ _I_ chose you. _You_ chose me.”

            If he had to fuck the truth into her, he would. And he did until she smelt like him and her own musk, as she should.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for death, violence, dehumanisation, fantastic racism and examination of power dynamics, and mentions of postpartum depression and PTSD.

 

Sparrow woke up with a groan and rolled out from under M7, who murmured discontentedly in his sleep, but she sorely needed to piss and have a shower, both of which the Hotel Rexford offered. Hot water and soap washed away the grime of the road and the sticky remnants of the synth’s possessive fucking, leaving her resting her head on grimy tiles in a Goodneighbour bathroom after switching off the water and wondering where exactly her moral compass was pointing these days. She’d been stunned to hear M7 argue that he should kill all the Institute scientists even though she knew what the synths faced there. The sweet shyness he displayed the first time they made love was fading day by day, to be replaced with a possessively dominant man who repeatedly insisted that they’d chosen each other when he wasn’t calling her his. M7 seemed to believe it but Sparrow had to wonder how much of her lack of self-control when he was programmed to bond rapidly had to do with it.

            The bodyguard-synth entered the bathroom. “Sparrow?” he asked tentatively.

            “Yeah?” she asked, turning around to face him.

            “What were the memories you relived?” His head was tilted, expression worried. “You sounded sad.”

            “I relived Nate’s death and Shaun’s kidnapping,” she admitted starkly. “The moment that the old Sparrow died.”

            The synth looked bewildered. “Why?”

            “To see if there’s anything left of her in me.” Sparrow walked past him into the bedroom, looking over Kellogg’s clothing and armour and pistol. “This outfit was worn by the man who killed Nate and took Shaun. I cleaned it up, mended it and wear it because it’s intimidating as hell.”

            “You kill your enemies and wear their preserved skins,” he murmured. “Ayo’s never seen this side of you. Maybe he should.”

            Sparrow threw him a startled glance. “That’s a hell of a way to look at it, M7.”

            “It’s too _surfacer_ for him to think of.” The synth shrugged broad shoulders, comfortable in his own grimy nudity. “Conciliator or avenger, you’re mine, so I can see it.”

            M7 was coming into his own when it came to speech patterns. The boyishness was fading with his shyness. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and the stubble suited him alongside the tousled hair he finger-combed frequently. Despite her moral quandary about their relationship, Sparrow always felt a flash of arousal when she thought about what he’d done to her with that magnificent body of his.

            His nostrils flared as his lips twitched in an almost-smirk. It wasn’t just taste the man was obsessed with, it was the scent of her. “If we didn’t have to return to the Institute today, I would happily keep you here until you smelt of us again,” he growled.

            “And how would you keep me here?” she asked dryly. “Tie me to the bedposts?”

            M7’s head tilted, expression thoughtful. “That would let me keep you in place so I could use my hands properly,” he mused.

            Sparrow was never going to let him discover handcuffs. Nate could occasionally be possessive, but his was a smug thing, like she was a fragile treasure that he’d unexpectedly managed to own. M7 was hard and raw, obsessed with keeping her safe and his, and Sparrow never expected that she’d like him this way.

            Here she was worrying about whether there was consent on his part when he was the dominant partner. “M7,” she said softly. “One day you need me to focus on your pleasure. I feel a bit selfish otherwise.”

            His brow furrowed. “But you’re my charge. It’s my job to protect and take care of you.”

            “Relationships go both ways, M7,” she countered. “I _want_ to give you pleasure. If you’ll permit the crudity, I _want_ to suck your cock until you’re begging me to let you come and my jaw aches.”

            The synth’s dirt-brown eyes flared and his cock twitched in interest. “I should have a shower,” he said hoarsely. “I’m filthy.”

            Sparrow nodded. “If you’d like, I could do it in the shower.”

            He was proudly erect and heading for the bathroom in seconds. Sparrow chuckled, chasing away her constant worries, and followed him.

            M7 was certainly efficient about cleaning himself and Sparrow was soon on her knees, his back against the wall, hips jerking as she kissed her way down that broad chest, swirling her tongue in his navel (the Institute was certainly dedicated to realism) and then licking a long stripe up his rampant cock from balls to tip. He grabbed her head with a groan when she engulfed him, taking as much of his cock in her mouth as she could without choking and sucking. Then she proceeded to give him a taste of the pleasure he repeatedly unleashed on her, letting the synth fall apart with babbled curses uttered in that beautiful voice of his, begging for release as she so often did.

            When he came, the flavour of him bitter salt-musk on her tongue, he shoved her face down until her nose was touching his pubes and didn’t release her until she was almost red from lack of breath.

            Once she could breathe again, she looked up at him, at the tender expression on his face. “You chose me,” he said wonderingly. “Does this mean I’m yours now?”

            Sparrow swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to produce words because her jaw was aching and her throat battered. It had been too long since she’d given head.

            His smile was breathtaking and Sparrow wondered if a synth could feel love. “You did something for me without wanting anything in return. Humans never do that.”

            “You’d be surprised,” Sparrow replied, her heart twisting. Could she judge him for hating the Institute scientists when they treated the synths so poorly?

            “Not with the Institute humans. Maybe the Minutemen are like that.” He helped her to her feet and kissed her breathless, unbothered by the taste of his own seed in her mouth. When she was still gasping for breath, he easily lifted her up and braced her against the tiled wall before burying himself in her.

            The lovemaking was slow and sweet for a change. When she came, it was as a slow revelation that settled upon her, her inner walls clenching around his cock and milking him dry.

            She was in love with her bodyguard and she didn’t have a clue if he could love her in return.

…

Sparrow’s eyes were soft and warm whenever she looked at him and M7 knew she’d finally accepted him as hers as she was his.

            He almost didn’t want to return to the Institute. Just stay up here and… do surfacer things with her.

            But he had to go back because there were other synths who weren’t so lucky. Ayo and his allies would keep them all slaves bound to them, unable to determine their own destiny. Preston’s words about killing everyone who disagreed with him when they didn’t know better bothered him.

            Maybe he could throw most of the humans out and have the Institute be a settlement for synths. If they kept the ones they liked, they could have DNA for more synths if they could cleanse the irradiated genes of Liam and Madison. He imagined Sparrow in a synth’s body, immortal and safe.

            They walked to somewhere called the Combat Zone and Sparrow had them teleported back to the Institute. Surrounded by the too-green trees and the smell of bleach, M7 sneezed.

            It was time for a meeting and their lovemaking (he liked that word) hadn’t left any time for Sparrow to change. She walked up to the office where the Directorate met, him following, and saw X6 and X4 standing there with grim expressions. “You chose a good time to arrive, Director,” the chief of the Coursers observed tonelessly. “Doctor Ayo is expressing his… dissatisfaction with you.”

            Sparrow nodded and walked past the Coursers. M7 hoped Ayo said something that justified removing him as the threat to his charge that he was.

            “-She’s letting the runaways build their own settlement in the northern Commonwealth,” Ayo announced grimly. “With no oversight! I was willing to humour her, but it appears the M7-97 unit has convinced her it’s sapient.”

            “And what do you propose to do about it?” That was Allie Filmore. “The Director’s definitely too soft on synths. But if not for her, we’d be a smoking crater. You know what the Brotherhood and the Railroad would have done to us.”

            “If I thought she’d go quietly, I’d make her our surface agent, much like Kellogg was. She’s certainly effective at _that_.” Ayo’s voice left no uncertainty on what he thought on the matter. It was the snide, sneering, superior tone he used when talking about surfacers and how they were filthy degenerates. “Unfortunately, she won’t do that. We need to remove her permanently.”

            The three synths stiffened and M7 went into bodyguard mode, time slowing as Sparrow reached under her left arm and withdrew that ugly-looking revolver. She moved to the door, but he held her back. “I’ll kill him,” he growled.

            Her brown eyes were deliberately blank as she shook her head. “No. I can handle it. I killed Kellogg, remember?”

            Against his better judgment, he let her walk in first and a laser fired.

            What happened after that, after Sparrow fell with pain-widened eyes, would be nothing more than a red haze for M7 that ended in the room being painted red with Ayo’s blood and the other department heads cowering in fear before him and the Coursers.

            “If she dies, you all do,” X6 promised grimly. For once, M7 agreed with the bastard. “She’s Father’s Mother and you… you are all unworthy of her.”

            The bodyguard-synth picked up Sparrow and called for Doctor Volkert. He could fix this, right? But there was a blackened hole in Sparrow’s chest and her eyes were wide, trying to fix on his face.

            It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to become a synth and be immortal and his forever, not die like some fucking worthless human like Ayo. “Nonononononononono,” he heard himself beg. “Mine! Don’t leave me!”

            “No… choice…” Sparrow coughed blood.

            M7 was reduced to using words he knew humans thought were important. That could make her live, right? “Love you. Don’t go.”

            “L-Love you too…”

            And she was gone, just like that.

            Allie Filmore’s face went white as the walls of the Institute. “He made the decision, I thought we were all going to vote on it!”

            M7 was too busy screaming his loss to the skies above the Institute, so loudly that the Minutemen probably heard him.

            X4’s voice was flat. “Father’s Mother _trusted_ us. She trusted our free will and judgment. She had two Coursers watching the runaways in case something went wrong.”

            X6’s fists clenched. “It was unwise of Ayo to be the one to kill Father’s Mother. He was the only one who knew all the reset codes from the top of his head. And we will kill you before you get to a terminal.”

            Someone wet himself in fear. M7 buried his nose in Sparrow’s hair to not let the stench take away her scent from him. _Mine._

Allie raised her hands in a placating manner. “Look, I-“

            X4 actually snarled and lifted her by the jacket. Allie hung there, eyes wide, and was wise enough to remain silent. One more word out of her and she’d die.

            Doctor Binet leaned forward. “We can bring her back!”

            “As a synth?” X6’s voice was calm but with the promise of death if Binet was lying.

            “Yes. We can scan her brain and use her DNA to build a new body.”

            “And make her vulnerable to reset like we are? Do you think I trust you, Doctor Binet?”

            “It’s the only way you’ll get her back,” Allie Filmore croaked. “I was going to suggest the same thing.”

            M7 laid Sparrow down. “You will tell us how to do it,” he commanded. “And then, you and every fucking human in this place except for Liam Binet and Madison Li if they want to stay will leave. Or we will remove you. Permanently.”

            “Looks like they’re not only sapient but they hold grudges,” Madison noted dryly. “Do it, Binet.”

            Her cool tone of command got the Doctor nodding and rising to his feet. “Where will we go?”

            “To the surface. If you leave quietly, I’ll tell the Minutemen so they can help you out.” M7 picked up his charge. He wanted this, but not like this. He wanted Sparrow to know she was going to be safe and immortal, not knowing how it felt to die before being brought back. “If not, you’ll be teleported to a pit full of deathclaws.”

            “What are deathclaws?” Clayton Holdren – he’d been the one who pissed his pants – asked nervously.

            “They like to eat soft scientists.” M7 allowed himself a savage grin, enjoying the sight of a human being scared of a synth for a change.

            There was something in Madison’s eyes that reminded M7 of Preston as she followed them to the synth creation facilities. “M7,” she said gently. “I know you have every right to hate and fear humanity.”

            “But?”

            “But turnabout makes you as bad as Ayo or the Brotherhood of Steel. Take it from the woman who worked for them both.”

            There was no fear in her scent, only honesty and the bitterness of painful experience.

            He hung his head in shame and she patted his arm awkwardly. “We’ll bring her back. And I’ll wipe the reset codes from the system but for the Director’s terminal.”

            “Do you want to be a synth?” She’d make a good one.

            Madison’s smile was sad as she shook her head. “The woman I love is waiting for me on the other side, big guy. I thought joining the Institute, I could forget, but…”

            He’d never thought that someone could want to die. “I’m sure she is.”

            Then they reached the synth creation facilities and he laid Sparrow’s body down on the brain-wave scanning machine. They’d bring her back. She was his. She couldn’t die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for death, violence, dehumanisation, fantastic racism and examination of power dynamics, and mentions of postpartum depression and PTSD. Final chapter – thanks for following the story!

 

She was built again – steel and plastic, sinews of ropy synthetic material that anchored bone to bone, bubbling red goo that solidified into tightly packed striated flesh beneath synth-skin that felt like the real thing. Her grandchildren watched with feverish eyes as her synth eye and Courser chip from the Pipboy were implanted into this new frame of hers, faster, stronger and harder than those of the mortals who worked rapidly, frightened by X6’s dour promise of demise for failure. She was reborn into a new body, arising from the liquid like a phoenix, and met the eyes of M7 as he helped her climb from the pool.

            “DR-01,” Alan Binet, one of the scientists who’d wondered if synths had souls, announced quietly.

            “Sparrow,” she corrected. She was… a synth. But she still felt like Sparrow Finlay.

            “Err, yes, of course.” All of them looked pants-shitting terrified. She vaguely recalled M7 ripping Ayo apart as easily as a child tore tissue paper but…

            “You can leave now,” X6 ordered. “Gen-1s and Gen-2s will escort you to the surface.”

            Sparrow looked questioningly at the fiercest of her grandchildren and X6 smiled thinly. “They tried to take you from us, Father’s Mother, but M7 informed them that if they brought you back, they could live if they left.”

            “I’ll give Preston and Ronnie a heads up,” she said automatically. “There’s too much knowledge inside those minds to go to waste – and goodness knows the Commonwealth could use it.”

            She remembered the terrible darkness, M7 telling her that he loved her as his face faded away. She told him she loved him too, right?

            “Even after letting her die, she thinks to make sure you’re safe. You really are unworthy of her,” X4 noted with moderate contempt.

            “Enough.” Sparrow’s voice was firm; she needed to nip this contempt in the bud. “They’re leaving and Ayo is dead. It’s finished.”

            “Next time, _I_ will walk first into a room that has your enemies in it,” M7 said flatly. Then he embraced her, kissing her desperately, and her body responded as it should. She still loved him. Synths could feel love.

            Sparrow hugged herself when she realised she was naked in a room full of people but there were decisions to be made. Like what to do with the synth creation facilities. And how to cope with her mortality being taken away from her.

            Fear suddenly ran its cold fingers down her spine. _She wasn’t human anymore._ She didn’t hunger, didn’t need to sleep or suffer exhaustion (though many synths took cat naps to refresh their minds), M7 could fuck her almost endlessly. She’d crave Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.

            M7 wrapped himself around her protectively. “It’s okay. You’re safe. The humans can’t hurt you anymore. They’ll go and we’ll let them and we’ll only deal with the Minutemen…”

            Sparrow burst into tears. It was something she couldn’t explain to the Institute synths, not when they’d never known themselves as human. All that frailty… gone. She’d been named for the frailty of life, after all, in one of her father’s rare philosophical moods and her mother’s favourite poem.

            He picked her up as the Coursers began to chivvy the humans out. She could feel his erection in the denim jeans he’d worn topside. Despite being infertile the synths had all the urges of a human being. Did that make them human with a few extra pieces or…?

            M7 laid her down on the double bed. “I wanted you to be synth like us, but not like this,” he said softly. “Please don’t be scared. Not of us, not of me.”

            “I can’t explain it to you,” she said through the tears. “How would you feel if… someone made you suddenly human?”

            “Scared-. Oh.” M7 was far from stupid. “But he killed you!”

            She remembered the searing burn of the laser pistol. She didn’t expect Ayo to have that much gumption. She’d underestimated him and died for it. “I’m human… I was human, M7. We accept death as part of life.”

            He paused, face twisting in grief, and asked, “Do you want to die? There’s a reset code or I could just…”

            “No.” She kissed him, unable to stand the pain in those dirt-brown eyes. “Just… bear with me, love. I have to get used to… things.”

            “Love. I like that word.” For a moment, he was the synth who’d stepped out of the tube and imprinted on her again. “I think I know what it means.”

            “I already do and I still love you,” she assured him. “I need to go out there-“

            “Not until the humans are gone,” he growled, pushing her back down until he was practically on top of her. “I don’t trust them here. Even Liam and Madison are going because they don’t want to stay.”

            “Then I should warn Preston and Ronnie-“

            “We’ll teleport them to the Minutemen. Synths know how to run everything here.” He smiled suddenly, the expression lightening his face. “I have a place without humans! If the runaways want, they could come back.”

            Sparrow thought of the synths who lived topside and shook her head. “I don’t think they’ll want to. Too many bad memories here.”

            “Still…” M7 sighed. “We’ll go to the surface and meet them. I like the sky.”

            “So do I,” she murmured, plans already turning to reclaiming Cambridge and the C.I.T ruins.

            She would adapt to this new life of hers, somehow. To do otherwise would be to spit in the face of the gift that her grandchildren had given her. If she was immortal, or near enough to it, she could do so much for the Commonwealth and maybe atone for the sins of her past.

            M7 settled between her legs and distantly, she heard Codsworth humming as he cleaned something. She wondered how he’d react to her being a machine now. “Mine,” the bodyguard-synth growled. Then he paused deliberately and said, “Yours.”

            “Yes,” she agreed to both statements. No matter what happened, it was certainly the truth.

…

The humans had gone – _finally_ – and the Gen-2s were overseeing the Gen-1s in cleaning up everything. M7 would have to see how much the older synths understood and see if they were sapient like the Gen-3s and Codsworth or more like Assaultrons. At the moment, he was more interested in learning the subtly different scents and tastes of Sparrow’s new body, to show her the awesome stamina of a synth and not have to wait with an aching cock until she caught her breath.

            He wasn’t sure when he’d become the leader of the synths (other than Sparrow) but X6 was deferring to him now. M7 would smirk about it but Sparrow would be disappointed and technically, the Coursers were his step-grandchildren, according to Codsworth. That meant he had to be relatively nice.

            Dammit.

            She wasn’t a perfect copy of the old Sparrow. There was no mismatched synth-skin, no facial scar, no stretch marks. Her figure was a bit more curvaceous and her complexion flawless. M7 found he missed those little signs of imperfection, but not so much if it meant that she would have died on him eventually.

            Since the Coursers had everything in hand and it was high time they actually did something other than hunt things, M7 had recalled Sparrow’s dry comment about tying her to the bedposts. Because she’d go meddle in things when she should be getting used to being a synth, he’d decided to do just that. Hands bound loosely above her head, a word (bloodleaf) for if she wanted him to stop and complete trust in her brown eyes, she was beautiful. In some ways, she understood better now as a synth than she did as a human.

            But then, she wasn’t sure if synths could love until she was one who did.

            With her hands tied, he could do everything he loved to do: rub against her like a cat, nuzzle the join of neck and shoulder until there was a mark there, suckle her nipples until they were hard and pebbled, kiss every inch of her from breast to belly… Sparrow was begging him to let her come by the end of it and he hadn’t even tongue-fucked her. Kind of like how she liked to torment him during a blowjob.

            It took a few licks and his nose rubbing against her clit (he was so happy to know the proper names for things) for her to orgasm and he relished the taste and scent of her slick. She almost tasted the same and from what he could smell, there was currently no fear on her.

            He untied Sparrow, massaging her shoulders and wrists, before burying himself deep within her. She locked her legs around his waist and he grunted in approval. Now it was time to see how long she could go without getting tired.

            M7 must have climaxed three or four times and Sparrow much more before she croaked ‘bloodleaf’. She reached for the purified water in a glass on the table and drained it dry before pouring him some from the can always there. He kissed her on the lips and snuggled happily against her.

            The next morning she called a meeting, wearing her pink cotton dress. He chose to wear the denim jeans and t-shirt she gave him, going barefoot because the synths literally didn’t care about things. It was good to be surrounded by nothing but his kind and his charge to be now one of them.

            It tickled him to see Codsworth hovering there quite primly. He liked the Mr Handy and the robot appeared to be happy surrounded by nothing but robots. The humans were probably dismissive of him too.

            “We need to talk about making more synths… or not doing so,” Sparrow began without preamble. “In theory, using the designation system, we could make roughly 26000 synths before we ran out of things to name them. However, it’s not a matter of ‘we could’ but one of ‘if we should’.”

            “There’s roughly five hundred Gen-3 synths running around active at any one time, including the runaways, in the Commonwealth,” X6 reported calmly. “Though, given the extensive resources it takes to create us, I would say there’s quite enough for the moment. Perhaps we could save the process for a human ally or partner but… honestly, between the Gen-1s and Gen-2s, we have enough to take care of our needs.”

            Sparrow looked around and M7 saw everyone else was nodding. Z1-14 was thoughtful. “Are we dealing with the surface?” he asked. “Because it’s possible the exiled scientists will blame us and get the Commonwealth to become our enemy.”

            “Not if we approach the Minutemen,” Sparrow said quietly. “Preston and Ronnie owe me and they’re sponsoring the runaways’ settlement at Sanctuary. The synths have always been following the scientists’ orders.”

            “We should prepare for reprisals from the Brotherhood of Steel,” X6 noted. “I recall there being several more chapters outside of the Commonwealth.”

            “If they come to cause trouble, we’ll take them down,” Sparrow answered with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We don’t need to borrow trouble though, X6. Still, keep an eye on the Capital Wasteland.”

            “Of course.” X6 sounded satisfied with his orders.

            “We need to learn how to deal with our freedom,” Sparrow finally said. “We’re better than humans. But we were made to serve them. I don’t want anyone treating humans like shit just because we were. Two wrongs don’t make a right – I know it’s clichéd, but it’s true.”

            She leaned forward and smiled at her synths who were her grandchildren. M7 supposed that made them his step-grandchildren. Human relationships were confusing, so he settled for thinking of them as Sparrow’s descendants that he had to be polite to. Even if X6 was still a humourless asshole.

            He wrapped his arms around her and settled his chin on her head as the other synths nodded reluctantly. There were no humans telling them what to do, yet they’d been modelled on humans – what if a Courser decided to treat another synth badly? Someone might decide that they’d make a better protector for Father’s Mother than the synth who was bonded to her. If it was a Courser, Sparrow might be disappointed if he killed them.

            Freedom was a lot more complex than M7 expected but… well… he was glad to have it. His charge would live as long as he did, the humans were on the surface where they belonged, and no one would be reset without need. Maybe one day synths could make more of their kind without frightening off the Minutemen and the other humans who’d done nothing wrong.

            He inhaled the scent of his Sparrow and murmured, “Mine.” The world was finally something he could live with and he would fight to keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this story is probably a bit rushed. Thanks for reading it anyways!


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